


Of Brontos and Giant Cats

by gutsanalysis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsanalysis/pseuds/gutsanalysis
Summary: You never know how much influence you have on another’s life, no matter how brief your interactions.Three fights and four conversations (and some lifesaving) that pave the road to a friendship between an apostate mage and a Grey Warden.
Relationships: Female Aeducan & Anders (Dragon Age)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3
Collections: A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blarfkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/gifts).



> Blarfkey asked for Aeducan to save Anders in Kirkwall and then to take care of him like a big sister she is, preferably without (too much) judgement. 
> 
> This fic contains spoilers for all Dragon Age games (though the one for DA:I is so small, you might miss it if you blink).

They waited until nightfall to approach the warehouse.

The building was hugging the wall at the southern entrance to the market. Anders didn’t see any light within, and everything seemed quiet. Upon approaching, he noticed that the nearest windows were shut with wooden boards and the large door was closed. The building seemed well and truly abandoned. This was consistent with the information they were given.

He felt the nervous energy in the tips of his fingers. He was so close to freedom he could almost taste it. He looked at his companions – the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the Hero of the last Blight, the one who brought mages and templars together, and Sigrun of the Legion of the Dead. This could be a setup of a great joke; ‘Two dwarves and a mage come into a brothel–’

“Come,” the Commander guided him to the side of the warehouse. There was a door here, hidden in the darkness. He missed it at first glance. “Sigrun.”

“Right, my turn.” As if feeling his eyes on her, she added, “I’ve been known to dabble in this and that when I was Alive.” Anders heard the soft ‘click’ of an opened lock. Well, this explained why the Commander brought her along. Anders generally didn’t associate dwarves with light feet and clever fingers, but you learn something new every day.

He followed Sigrun through the door, ready for anything. His heart seemed to beat louder with each cautious step. He froze when the floor creaked slightly under the Commander’s weight. She smiled sheepishly under his scolding look.

The air inside was stale and smelled of dust. A cursory glance at the large space revealed some crates and barrels and shelves along the walls. It seemed empty otherwise.

He dared to hope. His phylactery was almost in his hands. He just needed to find it. He walked briskly to the nearest shelf creating a small flame for light. It was empty. He moved to containers on the right. After some moments of fruitless searching, he turned to his companions. “Do you see anything?”

“Aside from the dust, rust and mould, you mean?” Sigrun grumbled. “I suddenly feel like home.”

“There is a door over here,” the Commander pointed towards the northern wall. And they, like fools, walked through. He truly should have known better.

\---

Once they were inside the other room, they heard a decisive, “Halt!” Anders closed his eyes; he knew that voice. Ser Rylock, the templar knight. It was inevitable, he supposed. Every time he escaped, she was sent to bring him back to the Circle.

Did Namaya betray him? Was it even important?

He looked at the templars. Ser Rylock brought a small escort – only two others. She was either scrapping the barrel or didn’t believe he would resist capture. Knowing her arrogance and blind faith in the Chantry’s superiority, he would guess it was the latter.

And now she refused to honour not only the Grey Wardens' right of conscription but also the will of queen Anora! Blighted Chantry and trice-blighted templars! Anders glanced at the fabled Hero of Ferelden. She couldn’t have been happy with such open disregard. He supposed he could step aside to let her teach these knights not to mess with the Grey Wardens. He smiled, anticipating a fight.

She started talking instead.

“Ser Rylock, I know what tragedy a misuse of magic can bring,” the Commander’s eyes were trained only on the knight in front of her. “I have killed blood mages and abominations. Ancient ones, even.” Her calm voice was slightly gaining in volume with every word. “I have fought powerful revenants and simple walking dead. I have seen demon possession. And I have slain those demons,” she paused, leaning slightly towards ser Rylock. “Please, trust me to be capable of dealing with one mage. Anders is under my command, and I take full responsibility for him.”

The templar seemed to hesitate, and for a moment Anders dared to believe she would listen. But ser Rylock blinked as if waking up from a dream and said, “You may be good with a blade, but you are no templar. As a dwarf from Orzammar, you may not know that only the Chantry is equipped to deal with the likes of him!”

The Commander face stilled. “Very well.”

And she attacked.

Anders barely saw the blade, but ser Rylock managed to – clumsily – shield herself. After that, he was too busy to pay attention to them. One of the other templars rushed him, but Sigrun pulled him out of the way. Suddenly they were side by side, each facing one enemy. Anders grinned; it was nice to have company.

He gathered his magic. Templars could nullify his spells, but even they couldn’t resist the power of elements. Sigrun jumped to the side, throwing one of her blades at the nearest opponent. Anders used this distraction to freeze the moisture in his lungs, making him stop in his tracks long enough for Sigrun to reach him and thrust her other blade under his armpit.

By the time he fell, Anders was releasing a spell towards the second templar, who used his large shield to hit Sigrun. The force of the blow sent her to the floor. The knight ignored the dwarf, turning to Anders at the same time as the ball of fire reached him. It exploded right in his face. The shriek of inhuman pain died out almost instantly as the flames burned out his throat and stole his breath. The smell of burning flesh made Anders nauseous.

He looked at the Commander. She was still locked in combat with ser Rylock. The templar’s dented shield was hanging uselessly at her side. She moved carefully, trying to find an opening in the Grey Warden’s defence. It seemed that landing a hit on a dwarf huddled behind a shield was more difficult than anticipated. Before Anders could help in bringing their fight to a close, ser Rylock lunged forward. The Commander seemed to anticipate this move. She sidestepped the blade at the very last moment and used her opponent’s momentum to manoeuvre herself behind the templar. Her swing was swift and steady; ser Rylock’s head rolled on the floor.

Anders was woken from a stupor by Sigrun’s cursing. He rushed to her side. She was bleeding heavily from the broken nose, and her bruised eyes were unfocused. He made a note to check her for concussion once they were in a safer place. The Commander put her arm around Sigrun’s waist, taking the rogue's weight upon herself. He nodded in approval. “Thank you.”

She turned to him. “Thank me not. I am your commander, and I am responsible, Anders. For you and your actions.” Her eyes were like two pieces of polished jade. Suddenly he believed every word of the speech she gave to ser Rylock.

“Well, you certainly have a silver tongue,” Sigrun broke the tension. The Commander grinned at her. “I may not have dealt the killing blow to the Archdemon, but I did talk everyone into fighting it.”

Anders rolled his eyes.


	2. 2

Vengeance warned him about her presence, so Anders had a chance to compose himself before he lifted his gaze from a sleeping patient. 

“Lady Commander,” he greeted the dwarven woman in front of him. He was pleased to note his voice was calm.

“Anders,” she replied evenly. “And Justice, I presume?”

So she heard. His heart skipped a bit, but he looked her squarely in the eyes. “Vengeance,” he corrected. “He turned into Vengeance after we were ambushed by Rolan.” 

She frowned. “Who is Rolan?” 

Anders looked at her in disbelief. “The blighted templar who infiltrated your precious Grey Wardens to catch me. Right under Nathaniel’s nose,” he added, taking unexpected pleasure in her wince. “After I invited Justice into myself, that motherless son of a goat accused me of being a maleficar and tried to capture us!”

He glanced at his patient. The magic should make the youth sleep until the next morning, but loud voices could wake him up prematurely. Fortunately, the boy didn’t even stir. 

“And so you vanished into the woods, leaving a pile of bodies in your wake.” Of course, she knew about that as well. 

“And so you came after me,” he mocked. “Tell me, is this where you kill me for deserting?” Anders couldn’t explain this sudden need to provoke her. He wanted to make her lose her composure and see the _truth_ behind the diplomatic façade. 

She stayed calm, but he could see the tension in her posture. “No. I came to try and persuade you to come back with me. We need you both. We need every Grey Warden.” 

“Ah, yes–,”

“Now, don’t let us interrupt,” came from the door. “We’ll just take this one and go on our merry way.”

The Commander and Anders turned in unison towards the voice. They were so absorbed in their argument that they somehow missed five men entering the clinic. Each one was armed with either a knife, a short sword or a club. 

Anders was new to Darktown, but he has seen them around. They were in Aldo Honigmann’s band. They controlled the whole neighbourhood and were used to obedience. As far as Anders could tell, no one dared defy them openly, and if they did - the consequences were dire. 

“What are you doing here,” he asked harshly.

“I said, we want the lad,” drawled a scrawny man in studded leather armour. He gestured towards the sleeping youth. The boy was severely beaten, half his ribs crushed under someone’s heavy boot.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Anders said firmly, already calculating the best angle to catch them in a cone of cold. He felt the Commander shift beside him. 

“I wasn’t asking.” The thug threw his knife. Anders was mid-motion before he realised the blade wasn’t aimed at him. He watched in horror as it hit the sleeping lad’s temple. Vengeance _roared._

The Commander lunged, skewering the murderer through the guts. Anders jumped to the side, releasing the spell that froze three thugs in their tracks. Vengeance’s anger gave him energy to immediately follow with an invisible fist. The ice broke, leaving one of them dead and the other mutilated, as the lower half of his body fell into pieces. His scream died on his lips when the Commander stabbed him through the chest. Her next swing reached the last immobilised thug. He tried to parry with his club, but it gave way under the force of her blow. He died within seconds. 

The fifth man didn’t wait to see what happened to his companions. He vanished in the dark tunnels. 

Anders was _burning_ with the desire to rain death upon them all – the fiends preying upon the weakest, the most helpless. Vengeance agreed. He looked at the Commander and was delighted to find a feral smile on her face. He knew this expression, and he knew its meaning. 

“I think I know where to find that last excuse for a human being,” he said. She nodded, sheathing her sword. 

\---

They fell into step with each other with surprising ease. Anders wordlessly steered the Commander through the narrow corridors of Darktown. Her presence was solid as the stone underneath his boots. Despite heavy armour and her unfamiliarity with the place, she moved swiftly and in relative silence. Then again, her senses underground were much sharper than his. 

Vengeance reminded him that what they were doing was _right._ Moving and acting for a just cause was in their nature. 

Anders could feel the stares of the slums’ denizens hiding in the shadowed corners. The word of their fight at the clinic would spread like wildfire by midnight. If anyone dared to try and stop them, the dwarven woman by his side and the angry spirit inside of him were the most dangerous creatures in the vicinity. 

He was reminded of their trek through the Deep Roads under the Vigil’s Keep, a lifetime ago. Perhaps this bout of nostalgia prompted his tongue to move unbidden. 

“They took Ser Pounce-a-lot from me. They said he made me weak,” he whispered into the darkness. He hated them for it, this band of ruthless, humourless, narrow-focused, distrusting, oppressive, flea-bitten whelps!

The Commander looked at him, startled. She halted his movement with a brief touch on his arm. “Anders,” she said gently, as if not wanting to spook a wild animal. “Ser Pounce-a-lot was infected with the Taint. He had to be put down. Don’t you remember?”

Her confusion was so genuine that for a moment he doubted his recollection. He had to remind himself that she was a manipulator. Always calm, never revealing her true feelings unless it suited her. But even if she wasn’t lying...

“And who told you that?” he laughed bitterly. “You weren’t there. You left...” he trailed off. He didn’t mean to say the last part out loud. ‘Shouldn’t have said anything at all; we are on a mission and this argument is wasting time’, he thought. Vengeance agreed. 

“No, I wasn’t there,” she said. “I did leave, temporarily. I always intended to come back. But you were already gone. Nathaniel and Sigrun told me about your cat and how you changed after that.” 

“Of course,” he scoffed, “you believe their word over mine.”

“Paragons have mercy! They were worried about you. And so was I,” she huffed and resumed walking. She was finally letting him see underneath her mask. 

\---

They finally reached the cavern controlled by Honigmann. In the slums, the modest one-story building seemed like a palace. 

The Commander halted them just around the corner. She scanned the area for archers, while Anders looked at the ground searching for traps. From what little he knew, Aldo’s men relied on their numbers and brute force. Still, a blade in the dark or poison in one’s food was as deadly as magic. 

He gathered energy for a spell that would make their clothes impervious to cuts for a few minutes. The dwarven resistance to magic made some of his preferred methods of protection ineffective. 

The Commander pointed out two crossbowmen on the roof. Anders grinned and sent a jolt of magic towards the further one, throwing him off the ledge. The Commander ran forward, using her shield to protect herself from the second man’s bolt. When he was busy reloading, Anders froze the air around him. 

By that time, the Commander was at the entrance to the house. She used her momentum to barrel into three men who fell out the door at the commotion, sending one of them to the ground. She rolled forward, slicing another at the knees. The blade made of volcanic aurum cut through leather armour like it was butter. The injured man screamed. 

Anders hit the third one with another jolt of magic, disrupting his balance. It gave the Commander the time she needed to get back on her feet. She blocked a short sword and crushed her shield into her opponents face, stunning him. Anders ran to the entrance. He knew that once the thugs were on the ground, they were as good as dead. 

Two more men came out, swinging their swords at the dwarven woman. But Anders was ready. He used a cone of cold to freeze them. The Commander shattered the nearest with a heavy blow to the guts. 

Anders saw a movement in one of the windows and barely ducked in time. “Watch out!” he yelled, as another bolt cut into the ground where he was a second ago. 

The Commander curled behind her shield and lunged into the house. He heard the sound of a scuffle and yelling, followed by gurgling and then silence. 

Anders was getting tired from expanding so much magical energy in such a short time. He grabbed a dagger off one of the bodies and plunged it into the remaining thug, who was almost free from the freezing spell. The man dodged as best he could; the blade hit his arm instead of his neck. Anders managed to block the man’s swing by catching his wrist mid-air. They grappled briefly until the next spell could be unleashed. 

Anders entered the house, leaving behind charred remains of his last opponent. Behind the threshold, he found two more bodies. ‘Just how many men Aldo has?’, he thought incredulously. He wasn’t worried about the Commander. She had her shield and a dragonscale heavy armour. None of those men would be able to put a scratch on her. But she might be counting on him to cover her back, so he picked up the pace. 

Anders stepped over one more corpse before he found her. She sat on a large bed, wiping the blood off her sword. At her feet laid a giant of a man; his empty eyes were gazing into Maker’s face. 

“That’s all of them,” she said tiredly. Anders took the cloth from her hand and gently cleaned her face. Once he was done, she let him help her up. 

That’s when he thought he heard a whimper. The Commander was already moving in the direction of the adjacent room. 

Inside they found a child curled up in the small space between a wall and a bed. A dwarven boy, no older than seven or eight. Upon closer inspection, Anders saw a brand on his face. He thought it looked like one of Sigrun’s tattoos, albeit he couldn’t be certain. 

The Commander hesitated in the threshold. “Anders...” she turned to him. “Don’t look at me! I don’t know anything about children,” he hissed, slightly panicked. “I was always ‘too rebellious’ to keep around young apprentices.” 

She pouted – pouted – and kneeled in front of the boy. She spoke softly in dwarvish, while Anders took several steps back. He didn’t want to loom over them and scare the child even more. 

The boy looked at the Commander in confusion. She switched to common. “Stone-met. My name is Sereda–,”

“Like the paragon?” he interrupted, eyes wide. “Yes, exactly like the paragon,” she agreed. “What is your name?” 

He looked her up and down before deciding to answer. “I’m Trusk.”

“You are a long way from home, Trusk. Where are your parents?” The boy remained silent. 

“Your dad?” the Commander prodded gently. 

“Dunno,” he shrugged. 

“...Your mom?”, she asked in the most gentle tone Anders has ever heard her use. The boy lowered his eyes; his face crumbled. She nodded in understanding. “What are you doing here?”

“I work for Aldo.” Anders lifted his brow in surprise. “Doing what?”

“I bring him stuff, clean up his room, help him bathe–,”

“What?!” the Commander growled, and Anders echoed the sentiment. He would kill the bastard again if he could. Vengeance stirred within.

The boy curled up, frightened. The Commander visibly relaxed and held out her hand. “Come with us,” she invited. Trusk bit his lip and looked around. Anders tried his best to look unthreatening. “You will be safe with me, I swear on the Stone.” 

The boy frowned, undecided. Anders couldn't blame him - they did just kill everyone in this place. Still, the dwarven woman in front of him _meant_ her words and the boy finally nodded his consent. The Commander picked him up and cradled to her chest. Anders covered the child with his cloak, partially to shield his eyes from the carnage in other rooms. 

They walked away from the thug’s den with haste. 

\---

Anders once again guided the Commander trough the winding streets of Darktown. And once again they didn’t encounter anyone. The boy observed him warily.

“I want you and Vengenace to come home.” Her voice was calm and steady, her eyes warm. Anders believed her, Andraste help him! And for a moment he imagined that this story had a different ending.

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “You’ve seen this place. I… We have a _purpose_ here. A life to live. Something more than just waiting for the Call in an old, mouldy keep. I know that for you being a Grey Warden is a sacred mission, but for me, the Order is just another prison.” He prayed to the Maker that this was enough. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

Vengeance was silent.

The Commander looked stricken. After a moment, she nodded slowly and glanced at the child. “Every dwarf in Orzammar is a living shield between the surface and the hordes of darkspawn.” Hearing her tone, Anders felt a chill down his spine. “I was raised to fight, to lead my people. I always wanted to follow paragon Aeducan and be _their_ shield,” she gave him a wan smile. “I have always known I would die in the Deep Roads…” She suddenly looked years older. “I cannot begrudge you your freedom,” she added after a moment of heavy silence. “If that is your choice, I will leave you both in peace. But Anders,” her voice was firm, “take care of each other and do not let yourselves be caught.” 

He swallowed thickly and nodded. Suddenly he needed to move, to step away from her as fast as possible. He turned away. 

“Atrast nal tunsha,” was the last thing he heard before he ran. 


	3. 3

He did it. Sweet Andraste, _they_ did it. 

The Chantry was in flames and with Grand Cleric Elthina gone there was no chance to reach an accord between mages and templars in Kirkwall. There would be no compromise now, no deals to keep the old order intact. 

Anders was dimly aware that his friends were passing judgement on him. He supposed it was their right – he betrayed them all. 

Hawke will never forgive that.

His thoughts turned towards Justice. His human desires twisted the spirit into a demon and he, in turn, twisted Anders. And now they were _they_ and couldn’t be separated. And _they_ needed to act, to change the world since the world wouldn’t change by itself. 

_They_ also felt genuine sorrow for innocent lives that were lost in the explosion and will be lost in the future. 

“You have to pay for what you’ve done,” Hawke’s voice was flat. 

“I know.” And he did. He also understood why it had to be by the Champion’s– by Hawke’s hand. Anders turned away and kneeled. The least he could do was to make it easy for his friend. He closed his eyes, awaiting the blade. 

“I think not,” rang across the courtyard. 

Anders caught his breath. He would have recognised that thick accent anywhere. Still, he dared not to look and see if it was really her.

“Who in the Blight are you?” Hawke sounded more startled than annoyed. 

Instead of the answer, Anders heard the clanking of slowly approaching armoured feet. He could feel Hawke tensing behind him, but knew the man would stay his hand to see how the situation unfolded. Besides, any threat to the Champion was instantly on Bianca’s sight, and Varric wouldn’t miss from this small of a distance. 

The footsteps stopped near them. Anders could see the tips of muddied boots and a cloak with a clumsily sewed tear. It smelled of horse and fresh blood.

“I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. I came for Anders and Vengeance,” the woman spoke softly but firmly.

Anders finally lifted his head. Mere moments ago he was ready to die, but now…

She looked exhausted. Older. Her face was gaunt and covered with soot, but the eyes were still the same – clear and determined. 

“Why?” Hawke asked incredulously. “And what makes you think I will give them to you?” 

Anders glanced back at his friend. He could recognise a hint of admiration in Hawke's gaze. Knowing the Champion, it was due to the bravado with which she interrupted the execution.

“If Anders is to die anyway,” the Commander’s voice was earnest, “I will make sure he dies while serving the cause of the Grey Wardens.” She leaned towards Hawke. “I _know_ you know we need every brother and sister-in-arms. Just because the Blight is over doesn’t mean the darkspawn aren’t a threat anymore.”

Hawke gestured towards the rest of his companions, presumably halting them. 

“It’s all well and dandy, but how do I even know you are who you claim you are? These days even a friend can turn traitor and a murderer, you know. One has to be careful of impostors.” Despite his justifiable anger, Hawke was still speaking. Was it possible he was considering the Commander’s demand? 

“Aside from the fact that I am a dwarf of the right age and countenance, you mean?” she asked drily. “Anders invited a spirit of Justice to share his body, after its old one, a dead Grey Warden by the name of Kristoff, couldn’t house it anymore. And afterwards, Justice transformed into Vengeance.” 

“This doesn’t prove you are the Warden-Commander or even a Grey Warden, only that you know Anders,” Hawke narrowed his eyes. 

“Indeed,” she easily agreed. “Alas, I have no outer sign to present to you.” Hawke scoffed, and Anders was inclined to agree with the sentiment. “I travel incognito these days,” she shrugged. “You could always ask him,” she nodded towards Anders. 

“She is exactly who she claims she is,” he promptly said. He found himself not indifferent to the outcome of this conversation.

Hawke ignored him, looking expectantly at the Commander. She tilted her head slightly. “I’m the one who gave him Ser Pounce-a-lot.”

“He did tell me that he got that dog from his commander.”

“It was a cat, not a dog,” she said flatly. Hawke shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Very well, I believe you,” he admitted. 

“I thought as much,” she said. “Bethany told me you know Bodahn Feddic. I was hoping you would recognise me from his stories.” Why wasn’t Anders surprised? There two liked their games and evidently could play in any circumstances.

Hawke visibly tensed. “That is why I haven’t mentioned your sister before,” the Commander added evenly. “I wanted to avoid any chance of you thinking I am making a threat.”

Hawke’s replay was cut off by an explosion at a distance, followed by multiple screams. Even the Commander recoiled at the sudden noise.

Anders could feel the magic Merrill was gathering. As if the world stepped a little closer to the Fade. 

“Hey, Chuckles! Whatever you’re doing over there, better hurry up before the Gallows fall on our heads,” Varric shouted across the courtyard. “There’s a fight we’re supposed to be in right now!”

Hawke hesitated. The Commander laid a quick hand on his arm. “You may want him dead, but you don’t want to kill him yourself. I will make sure he doesn’t escape punishment. This I swear on my Ancestors.”

“And if I don’t let him go?”

The Commander huffed. “A duel then. The winner takes Anders.” Hawke gave her a sardonic half-smile. “And what a duel it would be. If we only had the time.”

A second explosion sounded much closer. “Andraste's tits! Do they have gaatlok?!” Varric’s voice sounded higher than usual. Fenris was almost upon them, followed closely by Aveline and Isabela. “Just kill him!” the elf shouted. “We need to go _now._ ”

Hawke clasped the Commander’s hand and looked her deeply in the eyes. “Take him. May he die in the Deep Roads.” Then he addressed Anders for the first time. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you.” Having said this, Hawke ran after his companions.

Anders was left in the courtyard. Alive. It wasn’t the outcome he expected. 

He turned towards the Commander and took her outstretched hand. Despite their hight difference, she effortlessly helped him to his feet. He gasped; her presence was calming to _them_. Since merging with Vengeance he felt differently around dwarves. Still, this was new.

“Here, put this on,” the gave him her cloak. “Make sure to cover your face.” The fabric barely reached his knees, but it would do. 

“Thank you.” They all knew he wasn’t talking about the cloak. 

\---

They marched through the night, wanting to put distance between them and the city. They left the road early on and turned to the hills. The Commander was guiding her horse and him using only the light of the full moon above their heads. 

Anders didn’t know how to feel. Part of him wanted to go back and _help._ Part of him was anxiously anticipating the future without the burden of his plans. He has been judged, and this was his sentence. Still, not all of his crimes were revealed. 

“Vengeance turned into a demon.” The Commander stilled and then slowly turned her head towards him. 

“I caused this,” Anders continued, “I turned my friend into a demon. And he made me... We... He’s gone now.” Each word felt like a stone at the pit of his stomach, heavy with grief. 

“What do you mean?” her voice was carefully bland. The horse took advantage of the stop and started grazing.

“I mean, we are one now. We merged. There is no ‘Vengeance’, nor ‘Anders’. There’s only ‘us’ now.” He steeled himself. She might kill _them_ now, but she was the only one who would mourn the spirit with him. 

He glanced at her just in time to see her wiping away a tear. He lowered his eyes to the ground.

She laid a hesitant hand on his forearm. “What do I call you then?” she asked softly. He was awash with sudden relief. “Anders is fine. But _our_ essence is different. _We_ are not what we were.” _We don’t know what we are now_ , remained unspoken. She squeezed his arm gently and resumed walking. Her horse followed reluctantly. 

\---

They finally stopped just before dawn. She took care of the animal while he set up a campfire. It took him some time; wood was hard to find in the dark, and he had to use magic. But the warmth of the flames amidst the morning dew was worth the effort. 

He could feel her eyes on him. It seemed more like concern than danger assessment, and so he finally mustered up the courage to ask, “Why did you help me?”

She was silent for a moment as if looking for the right words. “Do you remember what I told you after we defeated ser Rylock?” 

Anders hasn’t thought about his templar nemesis in years. That fight was a lifetime ago, but he could still recall the end. “You said you’re responsible for me. But I am not a child,” he bristled.

“No, you are not. But you are a Grey Warden that _I_ made. It was my duty _to_ you. And you were my brother.” She looked sheepish. “I probably should have made myself more clear at the time.”

Her admission floored him. It also encouraged him to continue asking. “How did you even know I needed help?” 

She shrugged and added wood to the fire. “I didn’t. The Ancestors must have guided my steps. Your friend, Bethany Hawke, is now stationed in Amaranthine. She apprised me of the situation in Kirkwall. I had matters to attend to in Free Marches and decided to visit. I couldn’t find you in Darktown, so I followed the Champion. And lo and behold, there you were. About to be executed.”

“We did what we had to,” he said stiffly. What _they’ve_ done deserved punishment, but it was necessary for the good of all mages.

She frowned thoughtfully. “I agree the Circles are not the answer. And I do understand that neither Justice nor the Anders I knew could stand idly by while Knight-Commander Meredith was imprisoning and killing innocents. But the fighting in Kirkwall is just the beginning,” she sighed heavily. “We should get some rest.”

They laid down on the opposite sides of the campfire. He thought briefly about keeping watch, but the Commander didn't mention it, just closed her eyes. An attack during the daylight seemed unlikely anyway...

Anders was deadly tired, but the sleep wouldn’t come. His thoughts turned to Hawke and the others. They were undoubtedly in the eye of the storm he unleashed. ‘Andraste, watch over them,’ he prayed. “I can’t leave this fight,” he found himself saying. 

She turned on her side; he could see her stern face through the waning flames. “Don’t you think you have sacrificed enough? This whole blasted mess is on the Circles and templars and the trice-cursed Chantry! It is about time _they_ dealt with it.” Anders was taken aback by the ferocity of her words. He knew she didn’t follow the Maker or prescribe to the Faith’s view on mages, but she’s never shown this level of distaste. Still, her words rang true, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it aloud.

“Is this why you didn’t offer Hawke your help?” he changed the subject. The Commander he knew would stand side by side with the Champion trying to restore order. 

“I didn’t offer my help because he was ready to plunge his dagger into your back,” she scoffed. “And the Grey Wardens must remain impartial in all political matters. It was bad enough you were there.” After a beat, she added, “I can only hope Hawke doesn’t reveal who rescued you.” Anders thought it unlikely. Varric, on the other hand, wouldn’t hesitate. “Even if, there’s no proof it was you,” he muttered. “No, there isn’t,” she smiled beatifically. 

It was the last thing he saw before falling asleep. 

\---

He dreamed of flames and daggers in the dark. He saw himself a demon, twisted and being torn from within. He tasted ashes in his mouth. He heard Hawke’s taunts amidst their friends’ cries for help. 

He felt the warmth of a small, calloused hand on his temple. A presence that caused everything else to become still and silent. 

\---

They rose at midday and shared a modest breakfast. Neither mentioned that her bedroll wasn’t on the other side of the campfire anymore. 

Anders had one more question – the most important one – and it was time to ask. “What do you want from me?” 

She took a moment to respond. “I want you to come with me,” she admitted. “I seek a cure for the Calling. We have been looking for years now, Avernus, Alistair and I.” 

She apparently took his stunned silence as an invitation to elaborate. “Do you remember what you told me once about being a Grey Warden?”

“I never wanted to be one," he mused.

“No, you wanted to evade the templars,” she agreed. “And it worked. But the first time I was in Kirkwall, you told me that I exchanged one set of shackles for another and you still weren’t free. I didn’t appreciate the sentiment at the time,” she smiled bitterly, “but I have a son now.” He looked at her askance. “Trusk, the boy we saved in Darktown,” she clarified. “I want to see him become a man, maybe raise a family.

"I want to grow old with my lover,” she added quietly. “I want Oghren and Felsi to have a life with their daughter. I want Sigrun to finish her novel. I want Nathaniel and Velanna to admit they love each other instead of sneaking behind our backs. I want all of us to have more time without this horror looming over our heads.” 

She looked at him. “There are two more Archdemons to come, two more Blights. And when they are here, the Grey Wardens _must_ be here as well. But it doesn’t mean that generation after generation needs to have their lives cut short. Not if I can help it. Will you join me?” Her eyes were burning.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice,” he said mostly to himself. The Commander promised Hawke that Anders would die a Grey Warden and he knew she meant it. Still, it was a just cause, one that _they_ could follow. One that was personal to _him._

“I was hoping you would help because you wanted to,” she admitted. "But if we have a chance to end this, is there really any choice?"

Not long ago, he would have resented her for this. Now he looked at her determined face and knew she would walk with him every step of the way. And so he chose to trust her. 

“Very well, I will help you.”

She smiled blindingly. He responded in kind, suddenly feeling lighter. There were dangers and hardship, and nightmares ahead, but right now the sun was shining.

The Commander took her horse’s reins. “Come, Salroka.” 

Anders didn’t speak dwarvish, but you couldn’t spend years around Varric and not pick up a few words. He knew this one. “You think we’re friends?” he couldn’t hide his sudden hope. 

“Actually, it is the name of my horse,” there was laughter in her voice, but it wasn’t mocking. “Magnificent beasts, horses. Too tall,” she looked at him with glinting eyes, “and require a special saddle, but are much easier to ride than brontos.”

Anders could feel the warmth of her gaze spreading through _them._ “I don’t know what a bronto is, but I always wanted to ride a giant cat,” he admitted. “I heard they have them in the Qunari lands. Do you think it’s true?” he was suddenly curious. 

She chuckled and shook her head. “Come, salroka.”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank blarfkey for the wonderful prompt. I do feel Ser Pounce-a-lot hijacked it a little, but I think Anders wouldn't mind. 
> 
> I know every Aeducan, every Anders and every Hawke are a little different. Still, I hope you could recognise yours in those in the story.


End file.
